


Not A Twilight Romance

by ShippersList



Series: Trope Train [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, But they're actually enthusiastically consenting, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dubious Consent, Humor, Hunting for an Asset, M/M, Natasha is so done, Power Bottom Clint, Topping from the Bottom, trope: handcuffed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippersList/pseuds/ShippersList
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil would’ve never thought that getting a personal mission from Fury would lead into <i>this</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aquinique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquinique/gifts).



> This started as a porny handcuff kink, and then it developed a plot and pheels. Sorry, not sorry.  
> I hope it pleases my giftee anyway. :)
> 
> Thanks to [majestic_duck](http://archiveofourown.org/users/majestic_duck/) for checking the grammar and cackling at Natasha with me.

[](http://imgur.com/UgPbHOi)

 

”Track him down.”

That was all Fury said as he slammed the file on Phil’s desk.

”Sir?”

”I don’t have time for this shit,” Fury muttered from between his teeth as he marched out  the door.

Phil blinked and frowned after his boss, then took a look at the file on his desk. It was thick, papers spilling over the edges, and it had only one word scrawled across the cover: _Hawkeye._

Slowly, Phil rested his hands flat on the table and let out a long breath.

 _Hawkeye_ had been a special project of Fury’s for a long, long time. He had guarded it almost obsessively for years, only letting one word slip here, another there, never telling anything concrete to anyone. As far as the brass was aware, _Hawkeye_ could be anything from a summer cottage design project to kite building or roasting marshmallows.

But Phil had always known better.

Fury didn’t talk about _Hawkeye,_ because he wanted to keep it close to heart. Phil didn’t know why, and even though he and Fury went a long way back, he didn’t ask. Some things were personal, and _Hawkeye_ screamed personal so loud that Phil’s ears rang. However, something must’ve come up if Fury was willing to relinquish his hold on the thing.

Phil squared his shoulders, steeled himself, and opened the file.

At first, the contents made little sense. There were faded circus posters, grainy photographs from decades back, old newspaper clippings, and even a partially broken arrow shaft. It looked like an oddly uneven collection of knick-knacks, something very peculiar for the Director of SHIELD to have. Nevertheless, Phil didn’t let it throw his mood. His mind carefully blank, he started sorting out the info, first by type, and then into chronological order, meticulously going through every piece with equal care.

And that’s when things started looking interesting.

 _Hawkeye_ wasn’t a set of cottage blueprints or a kite. _He_ was a person.

Problem was, he seemed to be nowhere to be found.

Phil smiled thinly and set to work.

 

* * *

 

Phil soon found out that working as Fury’s stand-in in _Hawkeye_ project gave him even more leeway than his regular job usually did. Of course, being high enough in the pecking order had given him a lot of independence and funds to begin with, but after taking charge of the project, his fund limit seemed to have disappeared.

It seemed like Fury really, _really_ wanted to find Hawkeye.

After a couple of months, Phil had managed to map out several reasonably plausible sightings of the man, and was able to start working on his profile. Despite his carefully maintained bland everyman appearance, Phil had an exceptionally brilliant and open mind (something he had been both praised and chastised about), and while Fury was an outstanding tactician, he sometimes forgot how unreasonable human life could be. Phil had no such issues.

He also had no difficulties prying for information from sources his fellow Agents might have deemed unseemly or below them.

Thing was, Phil was a practical man. He had a job to do and he thought the most efficient way was to use all means accessible. He wouldn’t have risen so high in the SHIELD ranks if he’d shied away from unconventional sources. He was well versed enough in SHIELD rules and regulations to know exactly where to look for loopholes and what phrases to use to get what he wanted. As a result, he usually got what he wanted. Of course, being almost scarily competent didn’t hurt either.

At first, it seemed like Hawkeye was more like a title than an actual name, because the first faded posters were from almost hundred years back. Even if the person posing in those old posters was still alive, he would’ve been in no condition to perform such feats that had been recorded in Hawkeye’s name up until the present day. It would’ve simply been physically impossible for Hawkeye to be one single person.

On the other hand, a series of master marksmen also seemed unbelievable. Statistically speaking, it looked highly improbable for several Hawkeyes having mastered the art of archery to the insanely accurate level of the recorded hits. If having one genuine Hawkeye was sheer dumb luck combined with a freak-of-nature situation, having several was ludicrous.

However, as time went by and SHIELD discovered more and more bizarre and mind-bending things from agencies like AIM and Cybertek, the more plausible the theory about one single person became. The more Phil listened to confirmed testimonies about enhanced healing and prolonged life span, the more he started to believe he was hunting down one single individual — a legend instead of a legacy.

It seemed like his life had become quite interesting.

The more Phil learned about this mysterious Hawkeye figure, the more he wanted to know. He had looked like a reckless vigilante, but as time went by, he slowly started to reveal himself to be a man of high morals and a strict honor code. Despite his volatile nature, there seemed to be a pattern in his hits: even when his marks had a spotless public reputation, the arrows in their eye sockets spurred a more in-depth investigation, often revealing disturbing things.

As much as it grated some people in the business, Hawkeye’s fame started to turn from a criminal into a nuisance-slash-good guy.

And Phil couldn’t wait to get his hands on him.

 

* * *

 

After six months, Phil had finally managed to pinpoint Hawkeye into a certain area near Detroit. Quite early on, he and Fury had decided on Phil being the sole person when trying to confront Hawkeye — if not for other reason than the fact that a bigger team might be just as well confused with an execution team, and Hawkeye had a notoriously short temper when dealing with people who tried to kill him. Phil figured that if he went in alone, Hawkeye might actually listen to him instead of just shooting him on sight.

So, he informed Fury, drew up delicate plans and contingency plans, and went off to meet the man.

He entered the abandoned building with care. He had his tac vest on and his personal gun with him, but it was holstered with the safety on. Phil didn’t want to raise any unneeded suspicions here, and he actually didn’t have a direct death wish, no matter what the younger agents had said when they had learned what his mission was about.

”Hawkeye?” He called calmly from the ground floor. ”I’m Agent Phil Coulson from The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Divisions. I’d like a word with you.”

Silence.

Phil wasn’t surprised. Hawkeye tended to watch from the shadows, assess the situation, and emerge only if necessary.

”I’m alone. I’m armed, but my sidearm is holstered with the safety on,” he continued as he walked forward. His hands hung loosely on his sides, palms open wide. He didn’t know how good Hawkeye’s sight really was, but he had no intention to slight the man by assuming he was a fraud.

”I can see that,” a somewhat amused voice called from above. ”A Smith & Wesson M&P Compact, well loved, and properly maintained. Where did you get that chip on the handle?”

Phil glanced sharply up. The building’s staircase spiraled upwards, and for a moment, he thought he saw a figure moving on the upper floor.

How the hell did the man see Phil’s sidearm well enough to ask about the scrapes and chips?

”Can I come up?” He asked, ignoring Hawkeye’s question.

Something rustled above. ”I guess I can’t exactly stop you, can I?”

Phil shrugged. ”You could shoot me.”

A soft chuckle drifted down. ”Not the most efficient recruitment speech.”

Despite himself, Phil let the side of his lip twitch. ”Is it working?”

He was met with silence. He waited for a moment longer, then took a step forward to get a better look up the staircase.

”My agency could use a man with your skill set,” he said amiably.

”And what’s in it for me?” The voice was a low purr, and it was a lot closer than before. Phil hadn’t heard anyone moving. The man was very, _very_ good on his feet.

”If you’re after fame and fortune, we’re not what you’re looking for,” Phil said dryly. ”The salary is shitty, and we try to operate as covertly as possible to avoid drawing attention to ourselves. It helps when dealing with unstable governments, after all.”

Hawkeye let out a noncommittal humming sound.

Phil had the slightly unpleasant feeling of being like a bug under a microscope. He kept himself completely still and relaxed, even though his instincts screamed at him to fight or run.

”Could I work with you, Agent Phil Coulson from The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Divisions?”

Phil didn’t manage to stop himself from blinking slowly, because _What?_

”That’s a fucking long name, by the way,” Hawkeye snorted. ”Have you ever tried saying it drunk off your ass?”

”Does high on the good drugs count?” Phil deadpanned.

That startled a bark of throaty laughter from Hawkeye. ”I like you, Coulson. I think I’d like to see you again.”

”Again?” Phil asked, raising a brow.

He didn’t receive an answer, and the easing of the prickling on his neck told him that Hawkeye had left the building.

Phil let out a slow, deliberate breath and rubbed a hand over his mouth.

It could’ve gone worse.

 

* * *

 

Fury, however, wasn’t that amused. He gave Phil a glare that was known to make strong men wet themselves and told him in no unclear terms that Phil had a month to bring Hawkeye in.

Phil nodded, said, ”Yes, sir,” and went on making more plans.

Several times during the following weeks, Phil could swear he felt the hairs on his neck stand up under the stare of the marksman, but no matter how hard he tried to glare at the surrounding buildings, woods, and on one occasion, fellow swimmers at the swimming pool, he never saw anyone who matched Hawkeye’s profile. It was slightly frustrating (which meant that Phil got snappy and made several junior Agents cry), but nothing he couldn’t handle.

He was, after all, Agent Coulson.

It took another two months for him to get into the same space with Hawkeye again. This time, they met on a rooftop, and Phil got an actual glimpse of the man. He had somehow managed to sneak up on him, although Phil strongly suspected that Hawkeye had always known where he was and had simply stood his ground and waited.

A lesser man might have felt insulted. Phil, however, was intrigued.

The man nonchalantly leaning on the chimney cocked his head. He was too far for Phil to see his expression properly, but he could feel Hawkeye’s stare on his skin like a hot point of focus. It made Phil want to fidget a bit, and Phil never fidgeted.

”Good evening, Hawkeye,” Phil greeted.

Hawkeye raised his other hand to give him a small salute.

”Hello, Phil Coulson of Strategic Homeland blah blah blah,” Hawkeye drawled. ”You look good.”

Phil allowed himself one blink, _just one_ , before answering with, ”Have you had time to consider our offer?”

Hawkeye shrugged, an exaggerated move, and pushed himself to stand on both feet.

”I don’t know,” he said. ”I don’t think I have enough intel.”

He sauntered slowly closer, his eyes boring on Phil despite the shades he was wearing, and Phil felt a lot like the proverbial ruminant mammal in the headlights.

”What else do you need?” He asked mildly, proud of how his voice was steady.

”Mmm…” Hawkeye hummed tilting his head. ”A… proof I guess. A show of a goodwill.”

Phil raised his brow. ”Oh?”

”Oh, yes,” Hawkeye said in a low purr, stalking even closer.

He stopped right in front of Phil, the shades obscuring his eyes. They were almost the same height, Hawkeye perhaps an inch taller, but significantly more muscular. He smelled strange, spicy and stormy, like air after a thunderstorm.

Phil wanted to smack himself in the head for thinking like a lovesick Harlequin book reader.

Hawkeye leaned closer, and for a moment, Phil honestly thought he was going to kiss him. Their lips hovered close to each other, their breaths mingling and ghosting warmly over each other’s lips. Phil was sure that if he licked his lips and poked his tongue forward, he could touch Hawkeye’s lips.

It was a tempting thought.

Hawkeye’s mouth drew into a slow smirk as if he knew exactly what Phil was thinking. Then he abruptly drew back and started walking backwards, giving Phil a cocky salute. He didn’t slow as he drew near the roof’s edge, and before Phil had a chance to react, he turned and jumped over the edge.

With a strangled cry, Phil scrambled to peek over the edge, but didn’t see anything down on the sidewalk. Apparently, Hawkeye hadn’t ended up splattered on the pavement. Good for him.

Phil on the other hand decided he needed to sit down for a bit and try to calm down his skyrocketing pulse.

 

* * *

 

Soon after their second meeting, Phil started having dreams.

They were always the same: there was a soft bed and a muscular, strong body straddling his. The room around them was obscured in shadows, and there was no other sound but their combined panting and soft groaning. He never got a good look at the other man’s face, but he remembered the kaleidoscope eyes and the feeling of the other sinking down his cock and clenching around him, and the feeling of his come splattered on his chest.

Every time, Phil woke up gasping as he climaxed, coming untouched.

He had always had a good imagination, but this was something else entirely. He didn’t remember having such vivid dreams before, and definitely not with such erotic detail.

In short, he had never had such a satisfying sex life.

Too bad it was with a literal dream partner.

 

* * *

 

When a year was up, Fury had lost what little was left of his patience.

”I’m done. I’m so fucking done that you’ve never seen me as done as this before,” he snarled.

Phil raised his brows and waited.

”If he’s not coming in, he’s not staying out either. I can’t deal with this shit. I want him gone!”

”Sir?”

Fury gave him a narrow glare for his one eye. ”Don’t you ’Sir?’ me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Unfortunately, he was right. With a slightly sinking feeling in his gut, Phil nodded.

”Good,” Fury spat. He stabbed violently his keyboard with his finger and then pointed at the screen. ”He’s there. Go get him.”

Phil took a team of consummate professionals, geared up with a grim frown, and spent the whole flight staring out of the quinjet window, wondering what the hell he was doing.

He didn’t want to terminate Hawkeye. He couldn’t explain it, other than it felt wrong. Perhaps it was the way he had started lusting after the man, or the way his respect had grown exponentially over the months Phil had been chasing after him.

Nevertheless, he was a professional, and he was a man on a mission — even though said mission sucked balls.

When they arrived to the coordinates Fury had given them, Phil nearly laughed out loud. The shabby warehouse was almost too cliche-y, with abandoned construction equipment, flapping tarps, and dark corners. With a resigned shake of his head, he reined himself in, went through the plan with his team yet once more, and sent them on their way. They were supposed to provide distraction while Phil snuck in and upon Hawkeye.

Of course it went south in about thirteen seconds.

Phil didn’t have a chance to do much more than listen to the muffled cries and yelps through the comm link. Soon, it was over, and all he could hear was his own controlled breathing echoing in his ears.

Then he felt a small prick on his neck, and thought, _Oh, shit._

When he slowly swam back to consciousness, it took him some time to get his bearings.

He was sitting against a pillar, with his hands handcuffed behind his back. The concrete floor underneath him was cold but dry. His head was ringing as if he had hit it, but the overall feeling was more like a hangover than an injury. The usual aftereffects of a tranq drug.

Phil took a careful look around as he slowly moved his hands to test the cuffs. They clinked softly, and he cursed silently at the sound.

”Ah, you’re awake,” Hawkeye purred from somewhere to Phil’s right. ”Good.”

Phil leaned his head back against the pillar and narrowed his eyes at the direction of the voice. ”Hello, Hawkeye,” he said calmly. ”How are you?”

”Relatively good, even though your team trying to kill me really hurt my feelings,” the voice said, now from somewhere left behind Phil.

 _How the hell did he manage to move so quickly and silently?_ Phil thought.

”Why am I handcuffed?” He asked aloud.

”Mmm… not sure yet.”

There was a flash of something on the periphery of Phil’s sight and his head snapped up at the sudden move. Then Hawkeye was standing right in front of him.

He looked different this time. Phil realized it was because he didn’t have his shades on, and the full force of his stare bore straight into Phil’s eyes. It was disconcerting and uncomfortable in a way Phil had never felt before. Neither of their previous meetings had prepared him for this.

Hawkeye stepped closer, squatted down, and cocked his head.

”Why are you trying to kill me? What did I ever do to you?” He asked, genuinely confused. ”As far as I’m aware, I’ve never killed one of yours.”

Phil sighed and leaned his head back against the pillar. ”My boss wanted to take you in. After I failed, he got frustrated and decided that you’re not worth more effort. His exact words were ”I don’t have time for this shit.’”

Something in Hawkeye’s eyes flashed. ”But you think differently?”

Phil shrugged.

Hawkeye took a step closer, staying squatted. Phil had no idea how he could make the move graceful instead of awkward. He was quite sure that had it been him, he would’ve ended up on his face.

”Can’t you tell me who’s your boss, if you’re going to kill me in his name?”

”Ah… I don’t think I’m killing anyone at the moment, considering I’m handcuffed,” Phil said carefully.

Hawkeye nodded slowly. ”True. But humor me.”

 _What the hell, why not?_ Phil thought and said, ”The order came from Director Fury.”

Hawkeye narrowed his eyes and let out an annoyed hiss. ”Thought so,” he muttered.

Phil blinked. ”Pardon?”

Hawkeye straightened himself slowly and stretched his back like a cat. Phil traced the arch of his back hungrily before he got a grip of himself and dragged his eyes away. To his mortification, he was too slow to avoid seeing Hawkeye smirk.

”Tell me, Phil Coulson, what we should do now?” Hawkeye pouted and shook his head forlornly. ”I can’t exactly let you go, can I? But I really don't want to kill you either.”

He tapped his fingers against his lips as he watched Phil, eyes half mast.

The air around them seemed to thicken, and Phil felt a shiver run down his spine. He swallowed dryly.

”Perhaps… I could be persuaded to…” His voice trailed away.

He had no idea what he was actually suggesting here.

”Persuaded? Really?” Hawkeye asked, sounding amused. ”And how, may I ask?” He crept closer until his knees were touching Phil’s shoes. Phil had the ridiculous urge to spread his legs.

”Should I drug you again? Or should I beat you up? I mean, you’re handcuffed and completely helpless, so I could do anything I wanted, right?”

Hawkeye’s voice was low and silky, and to his ultimate horror, Phil started getting hard. It took the other man about two seconds to zero in on the bulge in Phil’s pants.

”Oh… That’s what you meant,” he purred and crawled to straddle Phil’s thighs. ”Well, I must say this is my most favorite persuasion method. Drugs and violence are so… old-fashioned and dull.” He grinned wolfishly. ”This is so much more fun.”

Phil was only able to stare at him, as he deftly opened Phil’s tac pants. At some part of his brain, his rational mind was trying to tell him that this was crazy, he didn’t want this, that he should protest. His lust-addled hindbrain scoffed and told his rational side to shut it, because not only had Phil had recurrent wet dreams about the man, but he had also jerked off thinking about Hawkeye more times he could count.

He was jerked (all puns intended) from the argument when Hawkeye freed his cock from its confinement and let out an appreciative sound.

”It’s even more pretty than I imagined,” he said.

Phil let out a choked sound of disbelief. ”You— you’ve thought about me?” He managed.

Hawkeye gave him a small, fond smile. ”Sure I have. Did you think I’d let you find me if I didn’t actually want to be found? The kill-order was a surprise, but I guess you don’t always get what you want.” He sounded almost wistful, which didn’t make any sense.

”At least I’ll get to have this,” he then said with a sigh and took a hold of Phil’s cock.

All rational thoughts vanished with the firm hold on his cock. Phil let out a small gasp and Hawkeye chuckled.

”I thought you’d like it,” he murmured and started moving his hand torturously slow.

The dry friction was just shy of painful, and Phil bucked helplessly against it. His hands strained against the handcuffs, but he already knew he wouldn’t get loose, not from these strange rigid bar cuffs he had never encountered before. He let his head loll back and decided to — to —

”Nnngghhh…” he groaned as Hawkeye made a wicked twist on the head of his cock.

He was so close to coming he could almost see it, and then Hawkeye let go. Phil gasped for breath like a drowning man, his hips moving in little jerks despite himself. He was so hard it hurt, but he couldn’t come, not yet, not without touch. He blinked blearily, trying to focus into _something,_ but his eyes refused to work properly.

”Oh, fuck it,” Hawkeye muttered, his voice hoarse. ”I thought I was better than this, but who am I kidding? I’m so not better than this.”

Phil wanted to ask what the fuck he was talking about and, more importantly, why the hell had he stopped? Before he had the chance to do anything, Hawkeye moved in a blur. Phil heard something rip (Lube pouch, the last light of his rational mind provided), and then everything zeroed down on his cock that Hawkeye gripped (cool, slick), and then _pressure_ that went on and on, swallowing him whole until he was turned inside out.

His jaw fell slack as he realized what was happening: Hawkeye had climbed on his lap and had slowly lowered himself on Phil’s cock. He had a frighteningly intense look in his eyes and a small frown between his brows.

Phil hadn’t been a monk or celibate, he had had a pleasantly active sex life, thank you, but _nothing_ he had ever done had prepared him for this.

His whole body vibrated as he fought for breath. He wanted to crawl inside Hawkeye and run away, and it was too intense and still not enough. He thrashed in his cuffs, trying to get his hands free to pull the man on his lap even closer, but he couldn’t, and he finally let out a low whine of utter frustration.

”Shh…” Hawkeye cooed into his ear. ”It’s okay, I’ll take care of you.” His lips brushed Phil’s earlobe, his breath tickling along the side of Phil’s neck. ”Just relax and let go.”

Hawkeye started moving slowly, gyrating his hips in a move Phil was sure was illegal in several states.

”You know, I’d preferred this to happen in a bed instead of, well, _this,”_ Hawkeye said.

”You wanted me in your bed?” Phil said in something akin to sob.

Hawkeye purred. ”From the moment I saw you.” Then he lifted his head from the crook of Phil’s neck and frowned. ”If you’re able to talk, I’m not doing this right.”

”Seems… right enough for…” Phil groaned, the end of his sentence in a barely comprehensible garble.

”Hmh.”

And then Hawkeye really started to move.

Phil had no idea how long it lasted or what actually happened. All he knew was that he had this living embodiment of pure lust writhing on his lap, driving him insane. Somehow, Hawkeye managed to delay his orgasm, and it didn’t take long until Phil was an insensate, shivering mess, begging to come. Hawkeye didn’t let him, however, not until he himself clenched almost painfully around Phil, and spilled all over Phil’s tac vest.

Phil came with a hoarse cry, convulsing in his restraints, his legs cramping against the cold concrete floor. Hawkeye milked him through it, murmuring beautiful nonsense in his ear. He continued until Phil was twitching and oversensitive and pleading brokenly, _”No more, please, no more.”_

Hawkeye lifted himself off of Phil, who let out a whimper at the sensation, mourning the loss of the warm heat. The discomfort of cold didn’t last long, however, because Hawkeye bent over him and swallowed his spent cock down in one smooth move.

Phil let out a high whine and tried to buck, but his hips were held down with gentle yet immovable force, and he had no choice but to bear with the onslaught of sensation.

Hawkeye sucked Phil’s cock clean and gently kissed the tip before tucking him back in. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Phil wondered at the oddly intimate gesture, but the haze of the bliss of a mind-blowing orgasm was taking over, making it hard to think.

He realized his hands were free and Hawkeye was rubbing them to help the circulation kick back in before gently placing them on his lap. As Phil turned his head, he saw his wrists were bloody and throbbed with the dull pain of being chafed against the restraints for a good amount of time.

To his side, Hawkeye drew in a shuddering, deep breath. ”I’m fucked. So, so fucked,” he muttered.

Phil didn’t understand what was going on, he only felt how his hands were lifted up, then Hawkeye kissed his wrists, lapping away the blood. Something tingled along the raw skin, and Phil tried to ask what it was, what was wrong with his hands, but it was increasingly harder to think, let alone form words.

”Goodbye, Agent Phil Coulson from The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Divisions,” Hawkeye said softly. ”Tell Nick to stop looking for me.”

His voice seemed to come from far, far away. Phil tried to reach out for him, to ask him to wait, to talk, but he only managed to slowly keel to his side.

The last thing he remembered was the realization that he had never told Hawkeye Fury’s first name.


	2. Chapter 2

As weeks went by, Phil purposefully tried to push the events of the dim basement out of his mind. Unfortunately, it was easier said than done.

First of all, the whole wrap-up of the mission had been a complete clusterfuck. Agent Phil Coulson was known to be efficient to the point of ridiculousness, and him failing the mission became the instant hot topic for the whole HQ. The details (except for the sex, of course) were unknown to everyone except for Fury, Assistant Director Hill, Phil, and his team, but that didn’t stop the rumor mill from spinning out of control. The only small comfort Phil got from it all was that apparently it had taken a group of super soldiers, a telepath, or an alien invasion to knock Phil out.

Seemed like his reputation wasn’t ruined, only slightly altered.

Second, Fury seemed to be avoiding him. When they had returned, the Director had been waiting on the tarmac, but he had taken one look at the sulking faces of the team, turned, and barked over his shoulder, ”Coulson!” Phil had had no other option but to follow him. He had observed the rigidly tense line of Fury’s shoulders and wondered how the hell he was going to explain himself.

However, when they had reached Fury’s office and the Director had swirled around with a dramatic flap of his coat, his eye had widened. It had even looked like Fury had sniffed the air suspiciously. Then, to Phil’s utter bewilderment, Fury had barely listened to his vague excuse of a Sit Rep before shooing him away with a muttered ”I’ll be expecting your full report in due time.”

Since then, Phil had tried with no luck to meet Fury alone. The one time he had managed to corner him on the way to the canteen, he had been able to say that Hawkeye had been sighted again. Fury had nodded, given him a ginger slap on the shoulder, complimented him on a job well done, and hurried away.

If Fury had been physically able to get nervous, Phil would’ve sworn that’s what he was. He shook his head and continued back into his own office.

He had yet to ask Fury how Hawkeye knew his name.

And last but not least, Phil couldn’t get rid of the feeling that _something_ had subtly, but irrevocably, changed. His spatial awareness had consistently been above average, but now it seemed like it was enhanced. Also, if anticipating other people’s intentions by reading their body language had been effortless before, now it was unconscious and automatic, a fluent second language he didn’t need to think about. On top of that, he was slightly faster, his reaction times were shorter, and it was like his eyesight had corrected itself so that he didn’t need his reading glasses anymore.

It was… worrying.

Something told him to keep it all to himself, though. Not because he didn’t trust his agency, but because his gut told him to stay silent. And since his gut had kept him alive for almost 46 years, he knew when to listen.

Of course, the biggest reason for not being able to forget about Hawkeye was that every single time Phil tried, his mind went straight to the gutter. He found himself closing his eyes and falling into the memory of Hawkeye’s hand on his cock and the unbelievable pressure, heat, and pleasure that had followed. Without noticing, his hand tended to wander to his cock and, before he even fully realized, he was coming.

And coming.

Hawkeye had become Phil’s spank bank’s biggest deposit, the crown jewel, and he had no intention of letting it go.

 

* * *

 

At times, Phil tried to think back at what they had actually talked about and what had really happened, even though the… _distractions_ usually made the moments either long and exhausting or very, very short.

He tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Hawkeye hadn’t killed him even though he had had the chance (in fact, he hadn’t killed _any_ of Phil’s team, something Phil was very grateful for), but had instead decided to have sex with him. He was well aware that for most people, the encounter would’ve been rape, but Phil didn’t see it that way. Firstly, he had jacked off on Hawkeye countless of times himself, which meant that he at least was attracted (or a pervert, he thought helpfully). Secondly, the whole scene with the handcuffs had been insanely hot, a thing Hawkeye had seen immediately. And thirdly, as deranged as it sounded, Hawkeye had said he had thought about Phil’s cock, and said it was pretty.

This was usually the moment when Phil looked down at said organ straining against his pants. ’Pretty’ wasn’t usually the definition he associated with his cock, but who was he to argue with a person with extraordinary sight?

After the team had been checked by SHIELD Medical, and released with the reassurances that the sedative had been of a more harmless kind and already dissolved, Phil had stared at his wrists with a frown. He could’ve sworn his wrists had been chafed bloody and raw after what seemed like hours of thrashing and trying to break free. However, there was no sign of bleeding. No welts, no scars, no broken skin. Only a ring of a slightly more tender skin that made Phil shiver when he pressed his fingers on it.

Sometimes, when he thought about Hawkeye, his wrists tingled. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, and usually it was almost nonexistent, but it was there. When it happened, Phil often found himself wrapping his fingers around his wrist in a loose circle. It made him feel oddly better, as if it centered him, somehow.

When he strained his memory, he had a vague sense of Hawkeye kissing his sore wrists, followed by a tingling sensation. But as he had been literally fucked out of his mind, he hadn’t had any kind of energy to take in what had actually happened. Kissing wounds better sounded like a story Moms told their kids, and since Phil had the first-hand experience knowing it wasn’t exactly true, he brushed it off as the quirks of post-coital endorphins.

It didn’t remove the fact that his wrists felt weird, though.

 

* * *

 

In silence, project Hawkeye had been buried. Fury never brought it up again, perhaps because then he would’ve needed to actually come and talk to Phil about it. Even the message about the case being closed came through Assistant Director Hill, who only rolled her eyes when Phil asked what the hell was going on with Fury.

”Don’t ask me. You’re his friend, I thought you knew,” she snorted as she poured herself coffee in the Senior Agents’ break room. ”But if you’re interested, he’s been even more weird since this whole Hawkeye mission.”

Phil nodded and frowned. Something was off and Phil didn’t like it. He didn’t like it when he didn’t have all the facts, and now his intel had holes like a Swiss cheese. Jasper had once called him a control freak, and even though Phil at times disagreed with him, he knew that basically Jasper had it right.

The good thing about secret missions and being Fury’s ”one good eye,” as the junior agents so inventively quipped, was the fact that no-one dared to contradict him when Phil demanded all Hawkeye files for his use. Which had led Phil to this moment: having the _Hawkeye_ files at home.

He continued trying to locate Hawkeye. It was significantly more low-key than before, because he was doing this from his home, on his own time, and not from SHIELD HQ with numerous baby agents in his disposal. It was a slow going, and at first, it seemed like Hawkeye had vanished. However, Phil didn’t worry: Hawkeye had gone to the ground before and stayed quiet for several months in a row. He would surface eventually. Satisfied that his nets had been cast, Phil set to wait.

It was a good thing to have a hobby, right?

 

* * *

 

Four and half months after the basement incident, Phil noticed his wrists started to ache. Because it was February, he first brushed it off as old age, and figured the cold humidity must be getting on his joints. When it didn’t go away despite the liniment he applied every night and the wrist warmers he wore at home, he started to wonder what was going on. He didn’t feel much different from his normal self — a bit wound down perhaps, but that was understandable with the major AIM rundown they’d had the previous week.

He was quite sure he was coming down with something. He usually did after wrapping up a major op: if it wasn’t a serious migraine, it was the flu. He decided to leave early, rolled his eyes at the tired _oh-he’s-not-a-robot-after-all_ jokes, and decided to pick up some chicken soup and flu pills on his way home.

The closer he got to home, the more he started to feel a bit fuzzy around the edges, and his wrists ached enough to actually hurt. He changed into comfortable clothes, heated up the soup, took a couple of flu pills, and went to the couch to eat and watch some mindless TV to get his mind out of the overdrive.

He must’ve dozed off because he was jolted awake when someone kicked him in the shin. In a flash, he snatched his spare gun from behind the couch cushions and was pointing at the intruder in the face. He was pleased to notice that as horrible as he felt, at least the flu hadn’t slowed down his reflexes.

The red-haired woman standing in front of him didn’t seem impressed, though.

”Stop waving your gun at me, Coulson. It’s annoying,” she snapped.

Phil frowned. ”Do I know you?”

She sighed. ”No, but I’ve been hearing about you so much that I’m honestly sick of it already.”

”Excuse me?” Because, _what?_

”Gear up, Coulson, we need to hurry.”

Phil had no idea what was going on, so he crossed his hands across his chest and raised a brow. ”I’m not going anywhere before you tell me who you are and how the hell you got into my home.”

She looked at him for a moment with narrowed eyes and let out a string of curses in Russian. Phil blinked and tried to keep up. His Russian was fluent, but her selection contained words Phil had never even heard about. He made a mental note to look them up later. They might come handy at some point.

”You can call me Natalia,” she forced between her teeth. They looked very sharp, but then she blinked and smiled, and her teeth looked normal again.

Flu was making Phil see the weirdest things.

”I’m here because Clint asked me to get you.”

”Who?”

”Well, technically speaking he didn’t ask me to get you, but I chose to interpret it that way. He was mainly blabbering about how he’d want to see you once more before he died, and frankly, I was getting nauseous from all the sap he was spewing.”

She threw her hands up and flopped to sit down on the couch right beside Phil. ”He used to be a lot more fun when he wasn’t in love,” she grumbled sulkily.

Very carefully, Phil turned a bit to her direction. ”I’m sorry, Natalia, but I have absolutely no idea who you are talking about.”

She cocked her head to give him an assessing look. ”You can’t seriously say you don’t remember him,” she said flatly. ”He fucked your brains out in a dingy basement. I’m no expert, but I’d presume that’s not very commonplace.”

Phil’s jaw dropped. ”Are you talking about Hawkeye?”

Natalia blinked several times. Then she let out a slow, deliberate breath, looked up, and muttered, ”I give up. _Of course_ he was using his old stage name, what else? Introducing himself with his proper name would’ve been too polite, wouldn’t it?” She dropped her head on her hands and groaned, ”I don’t have time for this shit.”

That surprised a snort out of Phil. ”You sound like someone I know.”

She glanced up. ”You mean Nick? Who do you think taught him to swear?”

Phil had no answer for that, so he nodded and fell silent. Then his brain caught up with him.

”Wait, what did you say about dying?”

Natalia stood up. ”Finally! You’re a bit slow, aren’t you?”

 

* * *

 

It took them a couple of hours to get to the location Natalia hadn’t bothered to clarify. During the drive, she explained in clipped words that Clint had crossed the wrong people, had gotten himself caught, and was now slowly bleeding out in an abandoned warehouse. Phil wanted to ask her what was it about villains and warehouses, and, more importantly, why had she left Hawkeye — Clint — to die.

”I didn’t have much choice,” she said, gritting her jaw.

”What do you mean?” Phil demanded. ”You could’ve at least called an ambulance or taken him into a hospital!”

She let out a small, annoyed breath. ”That doesn’t really work that well on our kind.”

Phil blinked. ”Your kind?” He asked slowly.

Natalia was silent for a good while, her lips pressed together into a thin line, thinking hard. Finally, she shook her head, sighed, and looked at Phil. When Phil met her gaze, she opened her mouth and —

Okay, Phil’s first glimpse on the teeth had been the correct one.

”A vampire?” He asked flatly.

She raised a brow. ”You don’t seem surprised,” she said with a hint of reluctant admiration.

Phil shrugged. ”I work for SHIELD. Weird is what we do, albeit I have to admit you’re the first supernatural creature I’ve come across to.” The he paused and let his head fall back against the headrest with a _thunk._ ”First that I know of,” he corrected himself with a groan.

Natalia smirked like a cat, which looked a bit disturbing what with her fangs. ”You’re a quick learner. I think I like you,” she purred.

There was something in her tone, a sultry undercurrent that made Phil’s heart beat faster. It also made his wrists feel hot, and out of instinct, he curled his right hand loosely around his left wrist. Almost instantly, he felt better.

Phil glanced at her from the corner of his eye and saw a satisfied smile tug her lips. He narrowed his eyes as he glanced at his lap and thought for a moment.

The realization didn’t take long.

”I believe Clint might have something to say about that,” he said calmly, looking ahead.

Natalia let out a delighted laugh. ”You’re a _really_ quick learner. I don’t think I’ve ever met a human who figured out a claiming as fast as you just did.” She shook her head and huffed. ”No wonder he fell head over heels in love with you.”

Phil felt his face heat and cleared his throat. ”About that— ” he started.

”Nu-uh,” Natalia interrupted. ”That one you can sort out all by yourself.”

”Uh,” Phil said.

”Anyway. You probably want to know what you’re most likely to face when we get there, right?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. ”Blood. Lots of blood. When I said they left him to bleed to death, I really mean that. He’s also handcuffed, and neither of us can get them off.”

”Are they silver?”

Natalia winced. ”Not as such. Silver-coated titanium with liquid mercury-silver core. I can’t get them off without breaking them, and even though I could shield him for getting hit, it would put me in a effectively vulnerable state.”

She took a sharp turn that threw Phil against the passenger door. ”You should know that from all the shows, Supernatural actually got it right: the only efficient way to kill us is decapitation. Silver burns but doesn’t kill, and stakes through the heart are mainly annoying.” She paused. ”And if you dare to make a Twilight reference, Clint will probably dress up in drag, douse himself with glitter, and ask if he sparkles enough.”

Phil decided he didn’t want to know.

 

* * *

 

When they finally arrived, the warehouse loomed silent and menacing in front of them. The ache in Phil’s wrists had gradually grown stronger the closer they had gotten, and when he opened the door and stepped out of the car, it flared up with an intensity that made him gasp.

”You’re lucky he didn’t actually bite you,” Natalia said quietly. ”Or you wouldn’t be walking.”

Phil gritted his teeth and nodded. ”Where?” He forced out.

Natalia beckoned with her head. ”This way. Come on.”

Unceremoniously, she grabbed him by the arm and started manhandling him to the direction they needed to go. If Phil hadn’t just found out she was a vampire, he might have freaked a little about the sheer strength of her. Now, he was just grateful.

The room Natalia dragged him into was dank and smelled heavily of urine and blood. Hawkeye — Clint, Phil reminded himself — was huddled in a heap in the middle, slumped on his knees as far as he could with his hands handcuffed on a rail above him. There was a pool of partially coagulated blood around him and dried blood all over him, and even in the dim light, Phil could see how the myriad of deep cuts still bled sluggishly.

As they entered, Clint didn’t move. Phil tried to detect even a small semblance of his chest moving, but didn’t see any, and then it hit him to wonder if vampires even needed to breathe.

”Clint!” Natalia’s voice cracked like a whip. ”Wake up, Hawkeye! I’ve brought you your prince Charming.”

They received no response, but Natalia didn’t seem overly concerned. She hauled Phil next to Clint, and despite his long career in all sorts of grimy and despicable, Phil couldn’t stop himself from flinching. Clint’s wounds were even more drastic from up close, and he couldn’t understand how the man was even alive anymore.

Or, not-dead, whatever the politically correct term was when dealing with vampires.

”See?” Natalia said, pointing upwards. ”The only way to get him off from those cuffs is to shoot through. Now, I could do it, sure, but that would mean either I or Clint would get a healthy dose of liquid silver and mercury splashed on our skin, and it would burn straight through. On Clint’s case, it would go through his skull, spine, or pelvis, which all are bad options. He needs the two first ones, and I guess you have dibs on the third area.”

Phil blinked and stared at her.

”And if I get it all, it would burn through me, in which case I couldn’t drive us the hell out of here. So, it needs to be you.”

Phil nodded. ”Um. Okay. What do I need to do?”

Natalia guided him to thread himself through Clint’s linked hands to shield him from the splatters. It was an awkward position and Phil’s back started to cramp almost immediately. He gritted his teeth and stayed put as Natalia used him as a human shield for herself too, and shot the cuffs to hell at the same time as she shoved Phil forward and caught Clint’s hands as they fell.

Where she had obtained bullets that could break through titanium, Phil didn’t know, and he didn’t ask. After hurriedly stripping off his shirt to avoid getting any drops on Clint, he turned around in a flash and helped Natalia to haul him out. Clint was dead weight in between them, his feet dragging limply behind him. Phil wanted to make sure he was alright, but he didn’t dare to ask, not when Natalia was looking like murder incarnate and staring resolutely ahead.

When they reached the car, Natalia opened the back door and barked, ”In.”

Phil didn’t question her, just scrambled to obey. He was barely settled when Natalia practically threw Clint into his lap, slapped the door shut, and hurried to the driver’s seat.

”Keep him on you lap, okay?” She said as she rammed the car on gear and sped away from the warehouse. ”There’s blood in the cooler on the floor, make sure he drinks at least four bags.”

Phil nodded, feeling a bit lost. He found said cooler and swallowed thickly as he saw it was filled with blood bags.

”Problem?” Natalia asked. Her eyes were deadly in the rear view mirror.

Phil shook his head mutely.

”Good,” Natalia nodded. After a moment of tense silence, she added, ”They’re discarded blood bags, by the way. I didn’t rob them from anyone who needed them.”

Phil didn’t know what to say, so he nodded again and picked one bag up. It felt cool and oddly squishy in his hand.

”Here,” Natalia said and handed him a small knife. ”Make a tear on the corner and push it into his mouth. He’ll do the rest.”

Phil did as he was told, and watched with trepidation as Clint started slowly sucking the blood out of the bag. It was the first movement Phil had seen since he’d entered the warehouse, and he couldn’t help a sigh of relief. He hoisted Clint up a bit until he was resting against Phil’s chest, and pressed his cheek on Clint’s blood-matted hair.

”We got to him in time,” Natalia said softly. ”He’s going to be okay.”

Phil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _He’s going to be okay._

 

* * *

 

Natalia helped Phil to carry Clint into Phil’s place and into his bed, then she calmly informed Phil that she was going to use his shower. While she was cleaning up, Phil fed Clint his third blood bag, grimly satisfied how his cheeks were of a slightly better color and his face wasn’t as gaunt as in the warehouse. There was no pulse, of course, but Phil rested his hand on Clint’s chest anyway.

Clint was in the middle of the bag when his eyelids fluttered.

”Wha—?” he croaked.

”You’re safe, Clint,” Phil said quietly.

” ’m dead? Must’b de’d ’f you’re’re,” Clint mumbled.

”Um, why?” Phil asked, baffled.

” ’Cause.”

”Well, that’s not helpful at all,” Phil muttered under his breath.

”What he means is that he thinks he’s dead and somehow ended in Heaven,” Natalia snorted from the doorway. ”Because ’There’s no way a guy like him would really like someone like me,’ as he’s whined countless of times.”

Phil frowned. ”That’s—”

”Stupid? I know,” Natalia said cheerfully. ”But in some ways, Clint’s never been that bright.”

She took off the towel from around her and started drying her hair. Phil had never been that much into women, but he couldn’t help appreciating the aesthetics right in front of him.

”Hey, no ogling at the goods unless you’re buying,” Natalia said with an amused huff. ”Even though I know you’re not buying. The only thing you’re interested in is the sucker next to you.”

Phil nodded amiably. ”True enough,” he said mildly. ”What happens now?”

She shrugged and rummaged Phil’s dresser for a clean t-shirt. ”I’ll head off. I have no intention of staying here and listen to the Hallmark love letters you’re about to recite to each other. Clint knows where to contact me if the need arises. I’ll be around.”

She turned and walked into the living room, swaying her hips more than Phil thought was strictly necessary.

”Oh, and say hi to Nick for me, will you?” She called before she slammed the bedroom door behind herself.

Phil stared after her and wondered who the hell she actually was.

 

* * *

 

It took Clint almost a week to regain his strength. He spent most of the time in Phil’s bed, sucking off the blood bags until they ran out.

Phil was momentarily worried he would be required to get more, but Clint shook his head.

”There’s no need. We only need blood in an emergency, otherwise we survive on regular food.” He looked up to meet Phil’s disbelieving eyes. ”I mean it. I don’t _need_ blood. I _like_ it if I can get my fangs on it, but I’m not going to turn all Dracula on you here.”

”Okay,” Phil said. ”What do you need then?”

Clint looked at him from under his lashes. ”There’s another way of feeding me,” he said in almost a purr.

”I’m not going to put my dick in your mouth while you’re still fang-side,” Phil said flatly.

Clint stared him for a moment, then burst into laughter. ”Idiot. I don’t need to suck you, although I’d love to do that at some point. I meant that just you fucking me will help too.”

”Please elaborate.”

Clint sighed. ”Vampires are creatures of, well, lust. We are ultimate hedonists, and glut on anything that brings pleasure. Blood is the easiest but also the most addictive, sex is the next best thing, but you can feed on almost anything if it gives you a rush.”

Phil gave him a long, hard look, and then nodded. ”Okay.”

Clint blinked, looking a bit taken aback. ”Really? Uh, I mean, yay!” He scooted back on the bed to make some room for Phil, and started stripping.

Shaking his head in fond exasperation, Phil went to the bathroom to rummage for supplies and came back with a towel, a bottle of lube, and a couple of condoms.

Clint took the condoms and tossed them over his shoulder. ”Won’t need them.”

”We won’t?” Phil asked slowly.

Clint shook his head, serious. ”Nope. I can’t catch anything so you won’t get anything from me. Besides, I sorta need to get your sperm literally in me.” He ducked his head and shrugged. ”And I like it,” he said softly.

Phil swallowed at the sudden flare of heat in his groin. ”Okay. How are we doing this? Your wounds are still healing.”

Clint stood on his knees, turned around to face the headboard and pushed the pillows out of the way. He leaned forward to brace himself and spread his knees, shuffling a bit to get comfortable. Then he looked over his shoulder, eyes dark, and called in a sultry voice, ”Come and get me.”

Phil really didn’t need much more than that. He almost fell on his face in his hurry to get rid of his clothes. He crawled onto the bed and to Clint, almost like his cock was leading him. He really didn’t blame it.

He smeared some lube on his straining cock, careful to not stroke too much to avoid coming embarrassingly early. He pressed a lubed finger in and nearly bit in his tongue when Clint’s body opened up to let it in.

”Vamp benefits,” Clint grunted. ”I can control pretty much all my muscles, so… just get in me, Phil.”

It sounded almost too good to be true, but who was Phil to argue?

He stood up on his knees, lined up, and pushed in, watching slack-jawed as Clint’s hole swallowed him without a hitch. Clint mewled and pushed back, as if Phil was being too slow. Taking the hint, Phil gripped Clint’s hips and started fucking him in earnest.

It was rough, animalistic, and furious. Phil honestly thought he had died and ended up somewhere else other than the Heaven/Hell axis, because it was too good to be Hell and too intense to be Heaven. It didn’t matter that Clint was the one bent over and Phil the one ploughing into him, he still felt like Clint was the one in control, and he was just in for the ride. An awesome, mind-blowing ride, though.

When he came, it was with a strangled cry, and he slumped on Clint’s back as his whole consciousness zeroed on the tight channel his cock was pulsing into. The rhythmic clenching of Clint’s hole reinforced the feeling of Phil’s whole essence being sucked into Clint, and Phil gave himself over gladly, willingly, shivering with the pain/pleasure and aftershocks.

He heard Clint chuckle throatily as he gently tipped them to their sides and tugged the covers over them. Somehow, Phil managed to stay inside Clint, a fact he thought was awesome and extremely pleasant at the same time.

It might also be that his brain was slightly fried.

Clint reached behind himself to drag Phil’s arm over his chest and threaded their fingers together. ”Go to sleep, Phil,” he murmured.

As he snuggled closer, Phil heard Clint mutter, ”I’m so gonna ride you in the morning. I only hope you have a spare set of handcuffs at home.”

Despite being spent and wrung dry, Phil’s cock gave a valiant twitch of agreement.

Phil let out a breath. This was going to be a one hell of a journey.


End file.
